


all that gold don't reach the hills

by Zoom Zoom (PaperLillyWebs)



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Gavin Free, Because I'm a mess, Crew as Family, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, GTA V AU, Golden Boy Gavin, M for safety, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Love Triangle, No Smut, Poly, Torture and Recovery, Trans Jack Pattillo, and also him getting beat up, does this count as explicit violence i don't know, except not really, fight me, gavin loves his boyfriends a lot, gavin whump, gay slurs, have a V with gavin in the middle, i'm here to beat gavin up and write poly fic, not enough jeremy but someday i promise, romance as a subplot, somehow managed to use the word parvenu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperLillyWebs/pseuds/Zoom%20Zoom
Summary: “Your man, if he hurts him again, I will personally use your intestines as a clothing line.”Ray smirks, not even worried about the hand on him, because Gavin might still be tired to a chair, but that’s who the Golden Boy is, isn’t it: he didn’t need hands to inflict his damage.





	all that gold don't reach the hills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vagrant_Blvrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/gifts), [Funsighs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funsighs/gifts).

> this fic was not supposed to be so much about Ray but here we are.  
Title is a line from Strigimorphaes' fic When the Universe; thank you for the inspirations.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This RPF fic follows Achievement Hunter's fanfiction guidelines to the best of my knowledge and is in no way intended to reflect the real people. These characters are fictitious, based on their GTA personas, and any inspiration taken from their lives has been given careful consideration.

Gavin watches the building burn from the hood of Jack’s car, Ryan’s jacket pulled tight around his shoulders as ash catches in his gold-dyed hair. Ray leans against the passenger-side door and watches the bruises on Gavin’s throat darken in time with the purpling sky, and he knows, logically, that none of them could be sane, in their line of work. Any sense of mental stability was lost pretty quickly, so Ray should know better than to think Gavin is soft or sheltered. Maybe it’s that Ray _ has _ known him for so long, seen him in Geoff’s hoodies, and borrowing Jack’s makeup, seen him dwarfed in Michael’s arms, that let him forget Gavin had been doing this just as long as the rest of them. 

He watches Gavin tear off a piece of his ruined shirt and use it to wipe some of the blood from under his nose, while they hear Michael’s borderline-insane laugh from somewhere inside the building. There’s a grim satisfaction to Gavin’s smile now, witnessing the destruction wrought by his boys, and Ray _ should know better _. He’s been running with Gavin as long as either of them can remember, self-proclaimed best friends, but he still somehow forgets that Gavin fell into this life with open arms, and a few homemade explosives to boot. 

* * *

“We should stop taking easy jobs,” Gavin says unhelpfully over the coms, as bullets rain down on Michael and Jeremy’s hiding spot. 

_ “Yes, thank you for your input, Gavin,_” Geoff retorts, and detonates a hand grenade on the other side of the complex; Ray watches the plume of smoke as it takes to the sky with the startled screams of anyone that had been in the vicinity. 

Despite his bluster, Gavin still scrambles to find something to help, fingers blindly typing while his eyes flick over the three monitors they’d set up on the very top floor of the nearest empty building to the complex; Gavin had said something about it being an old office building, but it's all cement and glassless windows now. Ray adjusts the rifle against his shoulder and peers back down the scope, easily picking off the suited thug trying to come at Michael from the back; Michael yells in surprise, but gives a harried salute in Ray’s general direction. 

“_Gavin, do you—” _

“The schematics are all buggered, Geoff,” he interrupts, Ray hearing rapid-fire clacks behind him as he takes out another thug coming around the warehouse. “I don’t think their base is even on this property.”

_ “Why the fuck didn’t this come up before?” _

Gavin grunts, and some bit of machinery whirrs. “‘Didn’t have time to triple check the intel.” The implicit _ Because somebody was too impatient _ doesn’t go unnoticed, Geoff huffing harshly.

_ “Understood. I’ve got eyes on the Lads, where’s the Vagabond?” _

Ray shoots a poor fool straight through the throat, before swinging his scope around to carefully scan the compound. Ryan is nowhere in sight, of course, having been the one to actually get _ inside _, but Ray does see quite a bit of commotion around one of the loading docks, half a complex away from the rest of the team. “Gavin?” he asks quietly, and Gavin doesn’t disappoint.

“He’s in building L2, right by the loading docks. Um. He seems to be having fun.” 

Ray glances over his shoulder to see Gavin watching one of the monitors with a stupid smile on his face, and sighs. He’s only here as a favor to Michael, they needed seven hands on this job and B Team was doing something for the Roosters, and Ray had foolishly thought it’d be an easy three-day heist. Fly into Los Santos, kill some drug lords, fly back to Boston before Gavin could convince him to stay with his puppy eyes. While they were technically on schedule despite the faulty information, Michael had not told him about their complicated little ménage à trois with the Vagabond; Ray had signed up for killing people. He had not signed up for stupid smiles and Michael letting Gavin sit in his lap for the briefing. 

“_Keep it in your pants, Free,_” Jeremy snips, smile clear in his voice, as Ray watches him vault over the wall he’s hiding behind to take a guard down with his fists. Michael darts up just long enough to shoot a guard messily through the shoulder, and lets Jeremy beat him to the ground. 

Gavin gives a little shout of triumph. “Geoffry! There’s a staircase in L3! Well, the map says it’s a storage closet but, _ but_, I’ve just found some builders blueprints, and there’s a staircase to a sublevel.”

“_Great work, Gav, _ ” Geoff huffs, grinning at Ray’s scope and giving a little wave. “ _ Vagabond, did you get that?_”

The coms screech with feedback for a moment, before Ryan’s voice crackles through their earpieces. “_Some fucker caught me with a baseball bat. Feedback is rough on my end, but I’m good to take L3._”

_ “Negative,_” Geoff says immediately, while they listen to Jeremy gleefully shoot someone point-blank. “_You know the rules. Circle back to X-Ray and Vav. Mogar, do you think you can make it to L3?_”

Quiet for a moment, then the distinct sound of someone getting hit with a crowbar. “_Which building is that again?_”

“The one directly to your left, past the water tower.”

Michael grunts and Ray quickly finds him again through his scope. He and Jeremy are holding their own, but are plenty preoccupied with the thugs that keep appearing from seemingly nowhere. “_Uh,_” he wheezes, and takes a swing at a thug in a kevlar vest. “_Not unless we want Jeremy to fight a small army with his fists._”

Before Jeremy can respond with all the enthusiasm of a child, that _ of course he wants to do just that_, Gavin jumps in, “Geoff, I’ve got it.”

Michael freezes. “_Wait, Gav,—” _

_ “Do it, Free. I’m held down here, and we can’t risk Jack leaving the van. X-Ray, you’ve got the skies? _”

“Of course, boss.”

Gavin starts scrambling around, grabbing his shoulder holsters from the back of his chair while typing at something with one hand. He grins at Ray as he shoves his arms into a denim jacket that looks suspiciously like something Michael would wear, as they hear quick bootsteps up the staircase to their floor. 

Gavin’s grin widens, but he finishes what he’s typing, settling for calling to the stairs, “That was quick, Rye-bread!”

A screech of feedback. “_I’m still on the compound, what— _”

“Ah.”

Ray snaps his head up, a cold terror he hasn’t felt in years —not since he first joined the Fakes— overtaking his bones. Gavin has straightened from his keyboard, standing between three masked men and Ray, and he doesn’t look nearly concerned enough for the three guns aimed in their direction. 

Gavin grins blindingly, full Golden Boy with the sun setting behind him and his $3,000 shades in his hair. “You are not Rye-bread!” he says cheerfully, causing the closest man’s MK to droop slightly. 

“_X-Ray, what’s going on?_” Geoff demands over the coms, having to shout over Michael’s swearing and Ryan’s sudden yell of rage. 

Gavin doesn’t flinch at the sound, even relaxing enough to put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You wouldn’t happen to be under McCullen, would you, love?”

MK tilts his head. “He said the hacker would be nearby. ‘Didn’t know there’d be two of you.”

“Ah, well, X-Ray and I are unfortunately a package deal, so it’s probably best for you to turn ‘round and—” He cuts off with a garbled noise that gets lost in the gunshot that has Gavin’s entire body jerking to the floor, his stupid gold shades clattering across the cement. Ray doesn’t have time to spin his rifle around before the thug with the shotgun raises the barrel and fires directly at him. 

Ray catches Gavin’s wild eyes just before he jerks backwards out the window, breath left somewhere on the top floor. 

Ray has been shot before, several times too many, but to date, only once had it been close to fatal. Back when he and Gavin were new to Geoff’s crew, and he supposes something should be said about the bullet that nearly killed him coming from Gavin’s gun. The scar on his right pec is ugly as anything, and Gavin will put his fist to it, sometimes, when they say goodbye for who-knows-how-long this time. Ray will put his knuckles over Gavin’s matching scar, and with a good thump, they’ll part ways.

That being said, Ray has been shot _ a lot _ for someone who is supposed to be as far removed from on-ground fighting as he is, and the marrow-deep ache he has when he forces himself awake has him all too thankful he never goes anywhere without his vest these days.

“Ray?” a voice croaks and it takes every ounce of strength he has to lift his head from the back of his chair.

He blinks into the cliche gloom of a damp, unfinished basement, and while whoever had tied him to the chair was kind of enough to leave his glasses, the left side is shattered to hell and he can barely make out Gavin sat a few paces away, similarly tied up.

Ray notes with relief that he seems unscathed, although his sunglasses had been left behind. “Gav?” he finally manages, forcing his molasses brain to catalogue the room, all the entry points, the lack of an interior guard, a third, unused chair. 

“It’s only been an hour,” Gavin says, giving a reassuring smile. “And I don’t think you’re concussed.”

“Well, thank fuck for that.” Ray resists the urge to roll his eyes, because he had fallen out of a _ window_, two stories up, and despite nothing making it through his vest, he had still been _ shot_. Gavin gives a gurgly little chuckle, and Ray has to violently stomp down a fresh wave of panic. “Gav, Gavin, were you wearing a vest?”

Gavin grins all slow and lazy and Ray swears colourfully at the ceiling. “‘Was supposed to be an easy job, wunnit? Ryan gets all shifty when I wear them.”

“Shifty.” He stares at his best friend and doesn’t let himself look at the dark stain on the front of Michael’s jacket, not yet. “You didn’t wear a vest on a _ heist _ because one of your boyfriends prefers you naked.” Gavin has the dignity to squawk and even kick out one of his feet, though they’re too far apart for him to reach. He does a strange little wiggle and still tries to kick him. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” 

“You’re wrong, you knob!” Gavin isn’t angry, not really, so Ray steels himself before he looks down and tries to see the extent of the damage. Gavin wasn’t hit with the shotgun, which, small mercies, and the wound looks far enough up on his shoulder to have missed any arteries or organs, but his fucked glasses don’t help him with the details. “Wearing the vest means we think I need it.”

“I’m even less sure of what you’re trying to argue now.” Ray tests his restraints for any give. Ropes were usually a nasty business, but his wrists are only wrapped twice, and if it really came down to it, Ray could easily break one of his thumbs like this. 

Gavin tilts his head to the side to smile. “‘Wearing the vest means I’m expected to be in danger, yeah? I don’t think Ry likes thinking about that.”

“Wait, so you _ ignore it_?”

“Well, if things had gone to plan, I wouldn’t have needed the vest.”

“When do things ever go to plan, Vav.”

“Fair point.” He slumps down in his chair, but it looks more out of boredom that anything more concerning. “You think they’re coming yet?”

Ray’s brows furrow. “You said it’s been an hour. Of course they’re coming.” Closing his eyes, Gavin leans his head against the back of the chair and Ray finally sees some of that Golden Boy mask slip away. “Scale of one to ten.”

Gavin hmms. “Six?”

“So on a normal human scale, an eight. Christ, Gavin.”

“I’m fine; ‘had worse.”

“I’ve been there for worse, Gavin, and you always say that.” Ray watches him smile, and gives a scoff. “Just because they’re on their way doesn’t mean we can’t try to bust ourselves out. How are your hands?”

“Just rope,” Gavin confirms, making no move to sit up. “Tight as bollocks, though.”

“Has anyone been in, since they brought us in?”

He shakes his head. “No, but there’s someone posted outside; I can see their shadow under the door. Uh. There’re the three that nabbed us, and at least two more. Then the bossman, McCullen, but I don’t know if he’s in yet.”

For all his vacant smiles and ADHD brain, Ray knew he could count on Gavin for the details. He takes a minute to process all of this, cataloguing it away. “Do you know where we are?”

With a snort, Gavin sits up some, though he’s listing dangerously to one side. “Bloody amateurs. We’re not even a mile from the complex.”

They still at the sound of several people thumping down the hall behind Ray, and Gavin straightens properly, the Golden Boy settling back into Ray’s best friend like a handmade suit. 

The door opens and MK from before follows a polo-wearing bastard-looking man into the room, coming to stand just to the right of them, where he can keep them both in sight. MK stands over his shoulder and tries to look intimidating, but he’s got a colorful bruise forming across the entire right half of his face, and has a bandage on his hand; Ray really does love Gavin sometimes.

“Hello, luv!” Gavin says before Polo or MK can open their mouths, grinning toothily. It’s dangerous, this time around, a little too big and a little too tight, and MK shifts his weight backwards warily. “Long time no see, Seàn, always a pleasure.”

Polo returns the smile, but is just this side of bewildered. “Ramsey’s Golden Boy. I don’t know if we’ve met properly...?”

“Of course not, not like this.” Gavin pushes his legs out, the picture of relaxation, but Ray keeps an eye on his sluggishly growing red patch. “‘Met before I became the Golden Boy, dint’we?”

“No, I can’t seem to recall.” Seàn —McCullen, Ray’s mind supplies— moves closer and allows Ray to see his absolutely atrocious checkered board shorts and khaki-coloured socks; even Jeremy had better taste than that. “Is that perhaps why you had your crew storm one of my complexes?”

Gavin scoffs. “‘One of’, my arse. We both know you can barely afford that one, luv. And you only occupy one building ‘cause, what? Can’t afford to heat the other two?”

McCullen’s expression turns stony and Ray wants to tell Gavin to shut the fuck up, but Ray trusts him from this hellhole to the real thing, and depsite his recklessness, Gavin usually had a plan. 

He lets out a pained grunt as his head snaps back with the force of McCullen’s fist, and Ray’s heart sinks. Usually.

Gavin blinks rapidly and leans forward so the blood drips to the floor instead of his pants, even though Ray’s pretty sure his clothes are already ruined. “You mingy prick,” Gavin laughs, shaking his head before sitting back up. His smile is all the more unsettling with blood in his teeth. “I haven’t even pulled out the big guns yet; you really gonna blow your load that early?”

McCullen glares icily and shakes out his fist, gold watch clacking softly. “I’ve been warned about your cheek, Golden Boy. You may think your crew of fags runs this city, but it didn’t take much to get you two here, now did it.”

“Oi!” Gavin just grins. “Only, like, thirty percent of us like it up the arse. Wait, X-Ray, if there’s six of us, and three of us are... whatever Rye-Bread, Michael and I are, and Jeremy is buggered but won’t admit it, would that be thirty percent?”

“No, Vav, that’s two thirds, so 66.6%? Wait, isn’t Geoff into pegging?”

Gavin somehow manages to snap his fingers, as McCullen looks between the two of them, aghast. “Right. So it’s actually like ninety percent. Right, Seàn, good call on the fags bit, please continue.” 

Ray tries not to flinch when all it gets Gavin is another punch, this one hard enough to rock him onto the back two legs of his chair for a moment. McCullen growls and doesn’t stop there, grabbing the front of Gavin’s shirt and pulling him until they’re almost nose-to-nose. Ray can barely see Gavin now, but knows from his pained grunt that McCullen is pushing his other fist against Gavin’s wounded shoulder. 

“Shut up,” McCullen hisses, and Ray starts to twist his wrists, seriously considering saying fuck it and snapping his thumb like a procedral cop drama. “You and your big nose have already caused me enough grief, _ boy_. Moran.” He pulls a bloody hand away from Gavin’s shoulder and flicks his fingers at MK, who starts forward and pulls a roll of duct tape from his belt. 

Ray can just see Gavin’s grin. “Moran? Like? Like in Sherlock?” he squeaks, like he really is trying not to laugh. 

McCullen releases him with a shove, and then a kick to the front of his chair to send him toppling over, and Ray closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch Gavin land on his injured side and stay down. The rip of the duct tape has him looking again, just in time to see Moran gleefully slap a strip of it over Gavin’s mouth. 

“Thank you, Moran.” McCullen spins around to glare at Ray. “What about you, Brownman?” Ray stays quiet, and McCullen nods. “That’s what I thought. Moran, if you would.”

Moran yanks Gavin’s chair back upright like he weighs nothing, and Ray can hear his ragged breathing from here. Their eyes meet for a moment, and something silent passes between them, before they both nod; this man didn’t have enough to break them. A sick part of Ray would like to see him try.

Somewhere between cracking Gavin’s ribs and Moran splitting Ray’s lip, they blindfold him. Because of course they do. 

For a split second, he thinks they’re just going to shoot him, let him bleed out in the chair, but Ray hears Moran move away, back across the room to Gavin. There’s another rip of tape and a small gasp, and a queasy something settles in Ray’s stomach. 

He listens to Gavin gasp until he has some semblance of his breath back, McCullen waiting patiently. “Now,” he says, with the arrogant lilt of someone that thinks they’ve won, “are you going to cooperate, or do I have to remind you of your position again?”

“I dunno, luv,” Gavin says smarmily, only a slight shake betraying his voice. “You haven’t bothered telling us why we’re here yet.”

“Why _ you’re _here; Brownman is nothing but collateral.” On cue, someone kicks Ray swiftly in the chest, and it feels like his sternum is going to give out, all the shotgun bruises burning like a fucked up connect the dots. Not even a squeak escapes his lips. 

“Your man did mention, yeah.” Someone, probably Gavin, spits onto the floor. “From what I remember, you don’t have any dealings with the Fakes, do you, Seán? So I doubt there’s anything I can even do for you.”

“Despite the confusion at my property today, this isn’t about the Fakes.”

Ray can feel Gavin’s confusion from here, but must somehow keep his expression neutral from the frustrated grunt McCullen gives as he taps his stupidly expensive shoes against the concrete. 

“Why don’t you tell me about Dan, Golden Boy?”

An icy silence, and an even icier fear, as Ray realises what’s going on. Collateral, indeed.

“Why don't you go sit on a mace?”

McCullen actually _ laughs _, a manic edge to it. “He had a surprisingly similar response!”

“What did you do to him.”

“Nothing, unfortunately. He slipped his ropes before I could get anything from him. Something you seem to be struggling with, Golden Boy. You really are just the brains to all that brawn, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta be, with Mogar and the Vagabond running rampant through the streets. Even— Don’t fucking touch him.”

Moran sets a hand on Ray’s shoulder anyways, and Ray shutters his emotions to the back of his chest. This won’t be the first time he’s been tortured for Gavin, and there isn’t anyone he’d rather do it for; Michael, maybe, but Ray can’t think of a single time someone had managed to kidnap Mogar. It was always him and Gavin, wasn’t it?

“This isn’t about Brownman, this is about Dan.”

“Your man, if he hurts him again, I will personally use your intestines as a clothing line.”

Ray smirks, not even worried about the hand on him, because Gavin might still be tired to a chair, but that’s who the Golden Boy is, isn’t it: he didn’t need hands to inflict his damage. And Ray’s relaxation puts just the right amount of fear into Moran for his fingers to twitch. 

“I’m impressed, not even a flinch from you. Is this genuine care for Brownman, or the knowledge that any injury on your behalf will go straight to Ramsey?”

“Head fucking? Really, Seán?”

Moran lets go of Ray completely, crossing the room again. Gavin doesn’t make a sound, but Ray knows what a fist hitting flesh sounds like; McCullen seems just as displeased this time around. 

“Alright, Golden Boy, one more time: Dan.”

“That isn’t a question,” Gavin wheezes, cocky smirk clear in his voice. 

“What's his last name? His whereabouts? When did you last have contact with him?”

“See, it’s because you still think there were two of us that you ask these kind of questions.”

McCullen growls. “What.”

“I worked alone.” Gavin spits out what must be a mouthful of blood, and he doesn’t even sound like the Golden Boy anymore. Just pissed off Gavin. “In the UK. There was only ever me.”

“You and I both know that’s impossible.”

“Not really, love. Spread the rumour I had hired muscle when I was just by my lonesome in my cousin's basement? Kept pricks like you from trying to find me.”

“And all the hits supposedly done by the Captain’s name?”

“Oh, those were all me too.”

Moran barks out a laugh, McCullen sighing like he’s caught his three year old lying about drawing on the walls. “We had Dan captured, for an entire eight hours. I met him in person, Golden Boy; did you really think we’d believe this?”

Gavin laughs and Ray shifts uncomfortably; Gavin could talk someone in circles for days, keep his head down until the perfect moment, but McCullen has managed to hit every one of Gavin’s rage buttons and Ray knows it’s only a matter of time before Gavin shows them the real reason Geoff had hired him into the crew. And Ray isn’t squeamish, can’t be, but there are lines he doesn’t cross that his best friend does. (He can only imagine how much worse it’s gotten under Ryan’s tutelage.)

“Worth a shot. Had you goin’ for a moment, didn’t I?”

“If it helps you sleep at night, you fuck,” Moran says, words all funny like he had bitten his tongue something fierce; courtesy of Gavin, probably. 

“Yes, thank you, Moran, back to the subject at hand. I’ll make you a deal, Golden Boy: you give me the Captain’s last name and his last known location, and we’ll let your friend go.”

“Mm,” Gavin hums, “tempting. Except I don't trade friends for friends.”

“Then this gets significantly more painful for the both of you.”

“It’s incredible to me that you’re still making threats. We’ve already been here, what, three hours? Ray, has it been three yet?” Gavin’s chair squeaks like he's leaning to look at him, despite the blindfold. 

Ray shrugs apathetically, keeping his head turned towards the ceiling like he’s bored out of his mind. “‘Should be. Can’t see a whole lot of light down here.” He manages to scrape one hand free, skinning his wrist as he goes, but clenching the blood into his fist reminds Ray what three hours will do to a gunshot wound. 

“See? You’re fucked.”

“You seem to think the Fakes will be able to find you here. Don’t worry, we removed the GPSs from your phones, and the one in your jacket.” Chair legs scrape against the floor before creaking as McCullen sits in it, probably across from Gavin, but Ray isn’t sure. “This conversation will remain quiet private, I assure you.”

“If you think the Fakes need a GPS to find us, I can’t wait to see your fucking face.”

“Are you getting nervous, Golden Boy?”

“No, I’m getting minged off. I would really love to tear your throat out with my teeth.” Ray knows his friend well enough to know the threat is punctuated with a bloody grin. 

“What is Dan’s last name?”

“Fuckface McGee. You could be cousins!”

“What is the Captain’s last known location?”

“Uh, Narnia, probably. Knob’s a fucking nerd.”

“What happened on October 15th, 2010?”

“Ooh, getting into specifics, are we? October 2010? Would have been around the time I shagged your mum.”

McCullen sighs and Moran crosses the room once more to yank off Ray’s blindfold. He blinks at the sudden brightness coming from a set of construction lights set up by the door, and gives Moran a calm little smile. Moran glares and kicks his chair legs, but doesn’t say anything as McCullen gets back to his feet. 

“Here are my thoughts, Golden Boy. Normally, this would be where I start chopping off Brownman’s fingers, one by one until you tell me what I need to know, _ but _— But I know that even if you do care for him, this will not be enough; your mind is too good for that, too adept at compartmentalisation.” Moran hefts a tool bag from somewhere behind Ray and brings it to McCullen, dropping it so whatever’s inside clatters ominously. “Your body, however, will betray you.”

Gavin doesn’t even look scared, only enraged. Ray watches his expression contort and wonders how much research McCullen has actually done, wonders if he knows even Jack has gasped out information under the right thumb, even Ryan has spat blood and secrets for self preservation. Not Gavin. It’s been quite the point of contention, actually, Geoff trying and failing to tell Gavin that if it saves his life, it’s _ fine_, it’s _ preferable _ to losing him, but Gavin will just smile through the bruises and say, _ Sure, Geoffry, I’ll do that next time_. Geoff has ruined them, making them a family. 

Moran clearly doesn’t know this, as he roots through the toolbag and straightens with a hunting knife. Gavin doesn’t break eye contact with McCullen, as Ray works to wriggle his other hand free. 

“Last chance: the Captain’s name.”

Moran easily cuts open Gavin’s shirt, slicing it right down to the belt. His chest is already splattered with blood, and Ray prays to whatever criminal underworld god watching over them (Laverna, probably?) that it’s from his shoulder and not anything he’d managed to keep from Ray. Standing behind the chair and ghosting the knife over Gavin’s clavicle, Moran looks to McCullen for direction; Gavin remains silent, and McCullen nods shortly. 

Ray flinches as Moran doesn’t hesitate to slash at Gavin’s uninjured shoulder, not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough to _ hurt_. A little gasp leaves Gavin’s busted lip, but he keeps his glare squarely on McCullen. 

“Kinky,” he says, only a touch breathless. 

Moran growls, before kneeing Gavin in the chest so hard his chair rocks. Gavin chokes on his breath and hunches over to cough, blood from his nose spattering the ground. 

“The Captain’s name, Golden Boy, and the both of you go free.” Gavin mumbles something, curled in on himself and breathing like sandpaper. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” McCullen leans down condescendingly, and Gavin doesn’t hesitate to kick him, hitting McCullen's shin so hard that Ray can hear it. 

“I _ said,_ ‘go fuck an iron maiden’.” He gets a punch to the side of his head, neck snapping to the side from the force, but even then, he’s still grinning. 

Grinning when McCullen recovers with a howl of rage and grabs him by the throat with both hands. “You faggot!” he screams, Moran ducking to the side to avoid his rath. 

“You’re really easy to fuck with, love,” Gavin rasps, as McCullen’s grip on him tightens until Gavin isn’t smiling anymore. 

A phone rings. Loudly. 

Panting, McCullen shoves Gavin away and roughly searches himself for his phone. He glares at the screen before answering with a tense, “What.” His eyes narrow at Gavin, but he seems to get a hold of himself at the sight of him gasping, and smiles. “I was wondering when you’d call, Ramsey.” McCullen takes the phone from his ear and turns it on speaker, remarkably silent of the crew’s usual boisterousness. 

“_Kidnapping in the middle of a heist, that’s ballsy,_” Geoff says, like he has all the time in the world to be talking to someone worth less than a quarter of his paycheck. 

“Well, when you so willingly dropped your little mouse into my lap, I couldn’t turn him away.”

Geoff grunts, sounding noncommittal, but Ray knows better, knows he’s finally working out that this wasn’t retaliation for the heist. “_Well, I happen to be very fond of that mouse, and me knowing just who took him does not mean good things for you, pal_.”

“I know how these games work, Ramsey,” McCullen laughs, eyeing Ray. “I’ve got two of your men, and you don’t know where they are.”

“_Yet,_” Michael’s voice snaps, and Ray sighs through his nose; Geoff should know better than to have the crew there for this call. 

“Is that you, Mogar? I’ve been hearing such wonderful things about you from our guest here.” 

“_If you've done anything permanent to him_—”

“_That’s enough, Michael,_” Geoff interrupts, as if he couldn’t be thinking the same thing. "_McCullen, am I hearing right that you’re looking to trade?_”

“You could call it a ransom, yes.”

“_Proof of life,_” he demands, and McCullen obligingly holds the phone closer to Gavin. 

He wheezes for a moment before he can manage, “‘Got blood on your jacket, boi.”

There’s a muffled yell and something being dragged, a door snapping closed. Michael, surely being removed from the room, but it isn’t better when Ryan’s voice replaces him. 

“_I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into_,” Ryan says slowly, enunciating each word until it looks like McCullen will shit his pants. He makes a good show of it, of course, not letting his expression slip too badly in front of Moran, but Ray can smell his fear from here, sweat gone sour with terror. Had he forgotten that the Vagabond ran with the Fakes? Or perhaps it was willful ignorance, in the small chance he might get what he wants.

“You have your proof of life, and now, my terms,” McCullen finally says, and Ray thinks it’s a valiant effort that his voice does not crack. 

“_Brownman, too, you fuck,_” Geoff snaps. 

“I’m here, boss,” Ray says, just loud enough to be heard. “How far out are you? We’re bored to death here.”

Geoff laughs darkly. “_What are your terms, McCullen?_”

“The name of an old partner of the Golden Boy’s, th—”

“_Romantic partner or business partner? Or both? You never know with Gavvers._”

“Eyyy,” Gavin wheezes, finally sitting properly enough for Ray to inspect him again. Not good, he decides, but could hold out until their crew got there. 

McCullen quietly seethes, but seems to know better than to antagonize Geoff further. “Business, from back before the Fakes.”

“_Oh, the Captain?_” Geoff is back to relaxed, and Ray thinks it should say something about their trust that Gavin isn’t worried for a moment that Geoff will actually give anything away. “ _ Sorry, that territory is off limits. What else can I get you? Money? Guns? Half a reputation?_”

“I really wouldn’t be mocking me in your position, Ramsey,” McCullen snaps, waving Moran forward to press his knife back to Gavin’s chest. Involuntarily, Gavin sucks in a breath, and Geoff has been in the game long enough to know what’s happening.

“_And I wouldn’t be thinking hurting my boys is any sort of leverage in your favour, fuckface. What’s the saying? Threefold back to you?_”

There’s another shuffle, right before Jack says triumphantly, “_Got it._”

“_Ah, there goes the last bit of your luck. You best hope I get there before Mogar and the Vagabond._” The line goes dead and McCullen stares at the phone like it’s going to bite him. 

“Boss,” Moran mutters, knife still cutting weakly into Gavin’s skin. “They can’t know where we are yet. We’ve got time.”

Gavin _ giggles_, and Moran lowers the knife to stare at him. “This is going to hurt,” Gavin grins, with the Mad King edge that has brought greater men to their knees; it’s almost a relief for Ray to see it, but he should honestly know better: gold bends, but it does not break. 

“You seem overconfident in your crew’s abilities,” McCullen says dismissively, turning back to his phone to type at it rapidly. 

Gavin gives a huffy little laugh, reclining back despite the knife so close to his throat. “It’s not Geoff and Jack you have to worry about.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Moran snaps, and Gavin shoots him a pitying look. 

“I’m a frontman, you prick. That’s what Geoff pays me for.”

Moran clocks him again, battered knuckles splitting his cheek, but Gavin just laughs. 

“Hey, X-Ray, a million dollars but you have to shoot this mong between the eyes.”

Both their captors look between them, perplexed, and Ray glares at Moran’s slipping composure — the cracked glasses only help his intent. “I’ll pass, Gav.”

“But it’s a million dollars!”

“I’d rather string him up by his front teeth and see how strong his gums are.”

Gavin chokes on a laugh. “That’s rank, Ray! ‘Been spending too much time with Rye-bread?”

“‘Been spending too much time with _ you_.”

“Enough!” McCullen grabs a smaller knife from the toolbag and slams it into Gavin’s shoulder, eliciting a whimper that quickly turns to Gavin swinging his foot up and nailing McCullen right in the balls. 

McCullen croaks and drops to the floor, face catching his fall as his hands protect his... more important bits. Ray gives a whoop and Gavin lashes out his other foot, Moran swearing and stumbling away. 

“Hey, hey Gav.” Somewhere in the floors above them, there’s an almighty crash and a cut-off yell, the shattering of a window. A gunshot. “Million dollars, but you have to do an entire heist with only your feet.”

“What do you call this, you knob?” Gavin kicks to keep Moran from coming close again, spitting blood and managing to get it on Moran’s pants right over his dick, the man growling but knowing better than to keep approaching. 

Instead, he hightails it to the door, dodging around McCullen’s prone form and snarling in Ray's direction. Then, all of Ray’s cliche dreams come true as Moran barely gets his hand on the handle when the whole thing explodes inwards. With a scream, the door knocks Moran back a good five feet and crushes him; he doesn’t get back up. 

Gavin is smiling brilliantly, sincerely, as Michael jumps over the debris with his sawed-off raised and expression twisted. “Micoo!”

“Jesus, you look like shit, Gav,” he says, kicking the door off Moran and shooting his knees. He regains consciousness screaming and flailing wildly before Michael puts his boot on his throat. “Shut up, you prick.”

McCullen whimpers and tries to get to his feet, but Jack, hot on Michael’s heels, kicks him back down easily. She’s more pissed than Ray has seen her in years, shoving her handgun against McCullen’s ass. “How you doin’, Seán?”

He whines into the floor, as pathetic as anyone could get. “Jack,” he pants, and Ray thinks there might be tears. “Always good to see you.”

Ray grins and gives his second wrist a yank, managing to get the both of them free. “Where’s the boss?” he asks, none of his companions surprised when he gets to his feet, crossing quickly to Gavin. Jack pulls a second pistol from the back of her belt and passes it to Ray, her other hand unwavering. 

“I made him stay in the car until we made contact,” she tells him, as Ray picks up Moran’s abandoned knife and Michael looks to them, to Gavin, who is listing to the side again, smiling all the while.

“Geoffry drunk already?” Gavin asks, watching Ray start cutting him loose. The prick had lied, of course, or omitted the fact that he’s been tied up to his elbows, and Ray is offended McCullen didn’t think to worry so much about _ the _Brownman. 

Jack shoots Gavin a glare, as they hear Ryan’s telltale murder spree upstairs. “Ramsey’s been drinking since we found your blood all over the roost.” 

And she clearly has some feelings about that, Gavin wincing guiltily and glancing at Michael’s emotionally constipated expression. “‘Didn’t mean to drag you all into Dan’s and my mess.”

“I swear to fuck if that’s an apology I hear,” comes Geoff’s voice, their boss striding into the room and taking in the scene, Ryan half a step behind him and already covered in blood. Ryan zeroes in on Gavin and wastes no time stepping over McCullen to get to him. 

Gavin smiles, softer now, letting Ryan crouch in front of him to run gloved fingers over his busted cheek. “Hey, Gav,” he says softly, barely audible through the mask. 

Gavin leans forward to gently knock their foreheads together. “Lovely Ryan,” he hums, seemingly oblivious to Geoff kicking McCullen over onto his back. 

Ray grunts, finally cutting through the mess of ropes, but any sense of triumph is lost when Gavin hisses and Ryan notices the penknife in his shoulder. He snaps his eyes to Ray, and he hands over Moran's knife wordlessly. Ryan fluidly gets back to his feet and spins on McCullen. 

“Hey,” Geoff snips. “No murder yet.”

Ryan growls. “A little bit,” he bargains, and McCullen looks like he’s going to piss himself. 

“A none bit, asshat. I’m not done with him.”

He growls again but lowers the knife, as Geoff crouches down next to McCullen’s head and Ray focusses on getting Gavin’s arms back to the front without fucking up his shoulders. 

Jack clocks what he’s doing, leaving Ryan to guard McCullen. “Fucking hell, Gav,” she mutters, and Gavin somehow still has it in him to grin at her. 

“Both of them are amateurs, don’t worry your pretty little head,” he tells her, even as she has to support his entire left side so Ray can safely get his arms to his lap. 

“Just because you’ve dealt with worse doesn’t make it _ easier_,” she argues softly, no bite to it as Gavin’s lips drop to a pinched grimace. Ray can feel Michael’s eyes on them, tries to send him a reassuring smile, but Michael isn’t even looking at him, instead watching blood drip from over the arm of the chair to the floor. 

“How’d you find our roost?” Geoff is demanding, voice steady but broking no argument. 

McCullen glances at Ryan, and flinches away from what he sees. “We– An informant heard you were looking for small time heists. I put my name in, said someone was in need of a break-in at my complex.”

Geoff’s brows furrow dangerously. “All this to get the Captain’s name?”

“Geoff,” Gavin warns, but Geoff waves him off. 

McCullen looks between the two of them, then back to Ryan’s knife. “It’s all just business, Ramsey. You know how it i—”

Geoff shoves the barrel of his pistol into McCullen’s mouth, cutting him off and making him gag; across the room, Moran swears. “I get that you’re a small timer, McCullen,” Geoff says, deceptively calm, “but you’ve been around long enough to know who runs the streets here. Even upstarts know who they have to deal with when they get a little too big for their britches.” Ryan inches forward, and McCullen’s eyes spin wildly. “But you’ve gone a bit further, haven’t you? Oh, you managed to find our weak spot alright, but even the Los Santos parvenu know that’s what makes us dangerous.”

“They’re just trying to scare you,” Moran growls, like he doesn’t have tear tracks down the grit on his face. “A bunch of fags can’t k—” Michael shoots him between the eyes. 

“Sorry, boss,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all as he shakes gore from off his boot. “My finger slipped.”

Geoff sighs, but looks back down to McCullen. Jack nudges Ray to help her get Gavin to his feet, each taking part of his weight, because they know Gavin always walks away from heists, even if he shouldn't. Jack takes his good arm over her shoulder while Ray gets a grip on the waistline of his pants, the heft awkward, but necessary, with Gavin curling on his injuries. 

“Here’s what I know, McCullen,” Geoff says. “I know you’ve had dealings with the Captain in the past, somehow managed to get him in ropes, and that’s all well and good, except ‘your mouse’ is my boy, and the Captain is my boy’s. We were already going to kill you, before all of this,” he gestures to the blood on the floor with a tattooed hand, “But now, it’s going to _ hurt _.” He looks over his shoulder as they pass with Gavin between them, and his finger twitches on the trigger. “Gav, you wanna have the first go at him?”

McCullen shudders against the floor at the crooked flash of teeth Gavin shoots him. “‘Already had the first go, Geoffry: got him right in the scroggs.”

Jack throws her head back to laugh. “Is that why he was on the floor?”

“Got him with his hands tied and everything,” Ray confirms, steering them towards the door. 

Michael stops them for a moment, a hand ghosting over Gavin’s pulse as they make eye contact. Gavin smiles all stupid again, and Michael takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He returns the smile and claps Ray on the shoulder, before joining Geoff and Ryan standing over McCullen. 

“Right then!” Geoff says, grin dripping with violent promise. “Let’s get started, hm?”

“Where’s Lil J?” Gavin asks, when Jack has managed to get him in a sling, the three of them crowded around the hood of her car. Ryan had followed them out just long enough to get Gavin out of the remains of Michael’s jacket and replace it with his own, taking the removed penknife before disappearing back inside, where they hear nothing but screams, and sometimes Michael’s laugh. 

“He’s been rounding up the rest of McCullen’s men,” Jack says, slapping a massive plaster over the worst cut on his chest. 

Gavin giggles squeakily. “I see what you did there.”

“He willingly missed out on the rescue?” Ray accepts the spare pair of glasses from the first aid kit, something warm swelling in his chest that they still keep them around for him. 

With a scoff, Jack presses a cold pack to Gavin’s mouth and hands another to Ray. “Geoff had to threaten to take his hat to get him to go. From what I’m hearing from Trevor, Jeremy is having the time of his life.”

“Is he doing it bare handed?” Gavin bounces excitedly, voice muffled around the cold pack.

“Lung shots. ‘Been watching them suffocate for the last hour.”

Even Ray winces at that, but Gavin looks thrilled. “Ry’s been a good mentor, hasn’t he?”

“Gav, you’re disgusting,” Ray tells him, without the slightest bit of remorse, Gavin squawking but not being able to retaliate under Jack’s watchful eye. 

The ground shakes, Jack immediately steadying Gavin so he doesn't fall over. Geoff comes jogging out of the side door, still looking a little tipsy but the blood on his suit makes him look all the more the crime kingpin Ramsey is supposed to be. He’s smiling, a little, when he sees the both of them mostly patched up. 

“Michael’s been setting some charges,” he says, a bit breathless. 

Gavin laughs and accepts Geoff’s hair-ruffle. “‘Gathered that for ourselves, thanks. Ry almost done?”

“I believe he and Michael are putting the last of the C4 in McCullen’s gut, so, yes, should be finishing up now.”

Jack makes a face and hands a single wet wipe to Geoff, who cackles at the sight and obligingly takes it, wiping down his moustache. Ray tries not to think about explosives in people’s guts. 

“Did he squawk anything interesting?” Gavin pipes up, as the ground shakes again. 

“Not much, just that Dan robbed him something fierce two years back, and somehow found out you'd come to Los Santos.” Geoff frowns and puts two fingers under Ray’s chin, turning it from side to side, inspecting the damage. “We heard two shots over the coms, you didn’t get hit?”

Ray grins lopsidedly. “Oh no, I got hit. ‘Fell out the window.” 

Gavin chokes on a laugh, Jack pasting him with another plaster right over his nose. “It was awful to watch,” he admits, “but I’m also never going to let the sniper live it down that he was _ shot out a window_.”

“And you'll be fifty before I let it go that an escape artist couldn't get out of _ropes."_

Gavin makes a Gavin noise and tries to kick him, but Ray knows better than to stand within range, and easily sidesteps away. 

“But no, Geoff,” Ray says to the man watching them borderline fondly, “no lasting damage. I’m a smart crook that wears a vest.”

Geoff winces at that, and Ray starts to wonder if there’s more going on than just Ryan being an antsy fuck, maybe something from a heist; Ray has to remind himself that it isn’t his business to know, anymore. He was the one to say he didn’t want updates from them. 

“Did you find out how he knew about the roost?” he asks, instead of something more sentimental; Geoff really had ruined him, hadn’t he.

“Before he put word out about the job, he cased the area. For a moron, he was pretty smart about it. He didn’t know we’d have a sniper, though; he meant to take the both of you further into town, but had to settle for closer for all the ruckus Gavin was causing.”

Jack grins, tightening Gavin’s sling before pulling out her phone. “Got some security footage from Trevor; Kdin is disturbed how many hat pins you managed to fit in your shoe.” She types at her phone as Ray eyes Gavin’s converse suspiciously. “Alright, Caleb is setting up at the penthouse to get you cleaned up. Geoff, Matt’s analysing the files Jeremy got for him, he’ll need you to look it over sometime tomorrow.”

Geoff heaves a sigh, running a hand over his face. “It can’t wait?”

Ray watches Gavin look up at the building that knows too much of his blood, as flames start to work their way up from the basement; he seems to have tuned out Geoff and Jack arguing softly, and Ray doesn’t remember those lines at the corners of his eyes. Gavin is dangerous, he’d be stupid not to know that, but he isn’t invincible, and sometimes, Ray cares too much. 

There’s a whoop from inside, and the sound of glass shattering, and Gavin nearly reopens his bottom lip with his wide he smiles. Sometimes, they all care too much. 

Ray stirs awake into the neon dark of Jeremy’s room, the Los Santos midnight suns blinking outside the penthouse and casting their strange glow over the bed.

Technically, Ray still has a bedroom, just down the hall, and even though he knows Michael keeps the sheets washed and fresh, just in case, it isn’t _ his _ anymore; all his things are in his crappy apartment in Boston. He hadn’t even had to ask before Jeremy announced, a notch too loudly, that he wouldn’t be sleeping and his bed would be open. And Ray appreciates it, he really does, because he isn’t twenty anymore, and kipping on the couch isn’t what it used to be. 

With a groan, Ray rolls over and grabs his phone from the nightstand, scrolling through his messages. Just a reminder from Caleb, that bruised ribs aren’t necessarily _ better _ than broken ones, and that he should take a few days off. As if his body would let him try to jump back into action. 

It’s only seven, but considering the crew hadn’t gotten back to the penthouse until six that morning, and Ray didn’t even have a chance to shower until almost nine, it’s not like he’s overslept. Which, he totally deserves to do, he thinks. Falling out of a window and all that. 

Outside the door is quiet, save for the whirring of the aircon, and Ray wonders where everybody has gotten off to. Sleeping, probably, and they all have their own apartments besides, but Ray can’t see any of them finding comfort in that, tonight. 

Sighing, Ray rolls himself to the floor and tries not to think about feeling like a walking bruise, pushing into the hall to find the place dark despite the early hour. There's a strip light under Jack’s door, but Michael’s stands open, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s gone. He used to end up in Gavin’s room after heists anyways, even before they started trading spit; Ray has never asked, and Michael has never told. Only Gavin is privy to those secrets. 

Mind made up, Ray pads down the hall to Gavin’s door, handle a bright gold to contrast the black knobs of the rest of the rooms, because of course it is. He listens for a moment and decides it’s safe to peek in, easing open the door to find himself face to face with a chest too broad for either of the boys he’d been expecting to see. 

Surprised, he steps back quickly, but Ryan is just looking down at him, amused and bewildered. Over his shoulder, Ray can see Michael wrapped around Gavin, sharing the same pillow and somehow managing to fit on the double bed with enough space on Gavin’s other side for a dip in the mattress that looks decidedly Ryan-sized. 

Ryan smiles lazily and scoots Ray back into the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him. “Michael only just fell asleep,” he says softly, and Ray remembers how bad it could get, the way the rage could keep him awake for days. So he nods and wanders back down the hall to the living room, Ryan a few steps behind. 

“Caleb get him patched up?”

Ryan hmms and gets a diet coke from the fridge before dropping into one of the armchairs, watching Ray perch on the arm of the couch with hooded eyes. “He’ll have a few more scars, but it’s not like that’s anything new.”

Ray nods and pulls his hoodie tighter around himself. “And Michael?”

Hooded eyes grow distant, Ryan spinning his can in his hands until Ray is almost dizzy with it. “He’ll be alright,” he finally says, dropping his gaze to take a sip. 

“I’m surprised he kept his cool as long as he did," Ray agrees quietly.

“He’s gotten better with it, I think.”

“Is this where you tell me Gavin’s making an honest man out of him?”

Ryan tips his head back to laugh. “The day Gavin does something honest is the day Los Santos finally goes up in smoke.”

“Fair,” Ray laughs with him. “You three seem close. Closer.”

Ryan smiles all lazy-like over the lip of his drink. “‘Hard not to be.”

“So, you and Michael...?”

“Oh god, no,” Ryan barks a laugh before remembering he needs to keep quiet, stifling himself behind the back of his hand. “Michael once said completely sober that I’m just as much his father figure as Geoff is. ‘Makes it hard to eat his face.”

Ray watches him laugh and simply feels fond, albeit confused on how they manage it, but, kidnapping and torturing aside, he hasn’t seen the crew this happy in a long time. Gavin’s smiles reach his eyes, these days. Michael made them all breakfast just yesterday, and Geoff had smiled at all of them until his cheeks hurt. Jack didn’t have that pinch between her brows, the way she used to. Ryan is sitting in the living room with Ray with his hair undone and wearing an MIT shirt that makes Ray question how little he knows about the man. 

Ryan notices his gaze and smirks. “It’s Gavin’s.”

“Then why the fuck does it fit you?”

“He orders them in my size,” he shrugs, and Ray heaves a sigh. Collateral, indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is unironically dedicated to Vagrant_Blvrd in thanks for their somewhat worrying number of FAHC fic and for me even shipping freewood in the first place. you are a good bean, and thank you for getting me off my ass long enough to finish something. hope you enjoyed this clusterfuck


End file.
